The Institute: Daddy Issues (19 page)

At last it was over and I fell back, pant­ing, try­ing to catch my breath. My body was still tingling all over and nor­mally by now my mind would have been in over­drive. And in­deed, I
did
hear an in­ner voice ask­ing me what the hell I thought I was do­ing and how I ex­pec­ted to be able to look my part­ner in the eye in the fu­ture after let­ting him get me off this way.

But mostly, I was still on an emo­tional high. Still stuck in the Little head­space I’d once scoffed at and thought was a joke or an ex­cuse to duck re­spons­ib­il­it­ies. So while the adult, re­spons­ible Andi was some­where scream­ing that I was screw­ing up my en­tire ca­reer and the best re­la­tion­ship I’d ever had, the Little me was con­tent to sigh and snuggle up to Salt’s broad chest and mur­mur, “Thank you, Papa.”

Salt seemed happy to just hold me.

“Mishka,”
he mur­mured, gath­er­ing me close. I pressed my face to his throat and breathed him in—the scents of the ocean and his warm skin com­for­ted me and helped shut up the shrill voice of reason that was try­ing to as­sert it­self. To­mor­row…I would deal with the con­sequences of my ac­tions
to­mor­row
. That was soon enough.

I’d had a very stress­ful day and now that I was fi­nally re­laxed, I just wanted to sleep where I was safe—in my Papa’s arms.

So think­ing, I let my­self drift off and fell asleep wrapped in his strong em­brace.

“Wake up—we will be late. Un­less you want me to bring you break­fast in bed again?” Salt’s deep voice and the sun­light stream­ing through the cracks in the bed­room shades woke me. I took a deep, lazy stretch won­der­ing why I felt so good. My body seemed to be hum­ming with con­tent­ment and I felt looser and more re­laxed than I could re­mem­ber feel­ing for a long time.

“Time to get up,” my part­ner said again.

“In a minute,” I mur­mured. I rolled over, keep­ing my eyes closed, rel­ish­ing the feel of the silky sheets against my bare skin…wait a minute. My
bare
skin?

My eyes flew open and I real­ized I was sleep­ing na­ked. Not only that, Salt was stand­ing over me fully clothed in an­other one of his dark, im­macu­late suits. He was watch­ing me as I writhed around on the bed like some kind of porn star.

“Salt?” I gasped, sit­ting up and pulling the silky gray sheets up to my chin.

“You do not have to do that,” he re­marked, sit­ting on the bed be­side me. “You do not have to be shy with me now.”

Sud­denly everything came back to me. The way I’d let my part­ner see me na­ked. The way he’d bathed me…shaved me…and… Oh my God, had I ac­tu­ally let him touch me?

Not just let him—you
begged
him,
whispered a nasty little voice in my brain.
Begged him to touch you un­til you came all over his hand. God only knows what he thinks of you now after the dis­play you put on last night.

“Crap,” I groaned, put­ting my face in my hands. I couldn’t even look at my part­ner. “Salt,” I said, my voice muffled. “About last night…”

“Last night, we did only what was ne­ces­sary,” he said firmly.

“I don’t know what came over me,” I said, still not look­ing at him. “It was so…so
weird.
I just—”

“Andi…” He lif­ted my chin gently but firmly un­til I re­luct­antly met his eyes. “There is no shame,” he said softly. “We are play­ing roles here, yes? Only pre­tend­ing.”

“Yes…yes, of course,” I muttered, look­ing away. What would he think of me if he knew that everything I’d done the night be­fore had been real—at least to me? I hadn’t been play­act­ing when I begged him to touch me and called him “Papa.” I hadn’t been pre­tend­ing when I clung to him and snuggled close to his chest, feel­ing safe and warm and pro­tec­ted for the first time in years.

Some­how I had hon­estly fallen into “Little-space” and had gone to a place in­side my­self I hadn’t even known was there. In that place, a hungry little girl lived—a girl who was starved for love and af­fec­tion from a strong, lov­ing man. A man she could de­pend on to never leave her, a pro­tector and de­fender. A man who would kill or die to keep her safe. Someone who could be a father…a part­ner…a lover…a friend.

A man she could
trust.

You can trust Salt,
whispered a little voice in my head.

Sure I could—to be my part­ner. But he’d just said we were only pre­tend­ing. He was just play­ing his part—the part of my “Papa”—and he thought I was do­ing the same. He didn’t know that the little girl—that
mishka—
was real and was really a part of me. Even now I could see her, sit­ting on the curb in her pretty new party dress, the one her Daddy had bought her for the Valentine’s Day dance. Her thin shoulders slumped, her eyes red and hope­less as she looked down the street, wait­ing for a man who would never ar­rive. Wait­ing for a father who was never com­ing back.

He had failed me so badly—my bio­lo­gical father. He’d aban­doned me when I needed him the most and that pain was still in­side me. The little girl cry­ing on the curb was still there too, hold­ing onto it. Pain…dis­trust…fear…an­ger…she held them in her arms like a bou­quet of toxic flowers. They poisoned her—poisoned
me—
but what could I do? How could I ever let go of them? Let go of the hurt and doubt I felt when I re­membered that first, most im­port­ant be­trayal?

“Andi?” Salt said, pulling me out of my mor­bid thoughts. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I sat up straighter and tried to smile. “Just fine.”

“Are you cer­tain?” He put his hand to my face and his fin­gers came away wet. “You are cry­ing,” he mur­mured. “Tell me if this be­comes too much to bear. I know it is…dif­fi­cult.”

“For you too,” I poin­ted out, swip­ing at my eyes. “I mean, it can’t be easy hav­ing to pre­tend to be my ‘Papa’ and tak­ing care of me like I’m some idi­otic little girl who can’t fend for her­self all the damn time.”

“I never said I minded tak­ing care of you,” he said softly.

“Well, you cer­tainly did a good job of it last night,” I re­marked acerbically. “I mean, your act­ing skills are amaz­ing, Salt—or should I say
Papa?
You should get an Oscar—
bravo
.”

Salt got a pained look on his face.

“Andi—” he began but I was already jump­ing out of bed. Keep­ing the sheet wrapped firmly around me, I went to dig around in my suit­case. “I have an­other dress for you hanging in the closet,” Salt re­marked, watch­ing me.

“What? An­other little girl party dress?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It’s time to change the game, Salt. Time to es­cal­ate. And I can’t do that dressed like I’m go­ing to an
Alice in Won­der­land
themed tea party.”

I pulled out the naughty school­girl out­fit—the see-through white blouse, the tiny red and black plaid skirt, the white knee socks and Mary Jane shoes—it was all just as I re­membered it.

“What are you do­ing?” Salt’s face had darkened. “I do not want you wear­ing that.”

“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” I flared at him. “But you’re not my ‘Papa’—you’re my
part­ner.
So I’m go­ing to wear what I God­damn please.”

“Andi—” he began but I held up a hand to stop him.

“No. No more of those stu­pid little girl dresses. You’re go­ing to have to face the facts, Salt—if we’re go­ing to crack this case your sweet little
mishka
is go­ing to have to grow up and play with the big girls.”

“I do not like this,” he said frown­ing. “I do not think it is safe for you to act and dress in this way, Andi. Bad things will come of it.”

“The only thing that’s go­ing to come of it is that we’re fi­nally go­ing to make pro­gress on the case and get the hell
out
of here,” I snapped.

Then I went into the bath­room, slammed the door be­hind me, and tried not to cry.

Stu­pid,
I told my­self over and over as I pulled on the clothes.
Stu­pid to think Salt was into it last night the way you were. He’s your part­ner—your friend. Not any­thing else. And he won’t even be that if you don’t pull your­self to­gether and stop act­ing like a hurt little girl that skinned her knee and is cry­ing on the side­walk. Get hold of your­self, Andi!

The pep-talk helped—at least some. By the time I had the naughty school girl out­fit on, I was dry-eyed and I had my head back in the game. No more fall­ing into the role I was play­ing, I lec­tured my­self. No more call­ing Salt “Papa” when we were alone to­gether. From now on I was go­ing to be all busi­ness all the time.

But what kind of busi­ness?

Look­ing at my­self in the big bath­room mir­ror, I knew what kind of busi­ness any­one who saw me dressed like this would think I was in. They would think I was hook­ing or strip­ping or mak­ing a porno—there was no other con­clu­sion any­one could draw, see­ing me like this.

The blouse seemed more see-through than I re­membered but maybe that was be­cause, after some de­lib­er­a­tion, I had left my bra off. My breasts were bare be­neath it, my nipples tight with ten­sion as they pressed in two stiff pink points against the trans­lu­cent silky white ma­ter­ial.

The skirt seemed shorter than I re­membered too but at least there was a pair of panties with it, which I hadn’t no­ticed be­fore. Not that they covered much. They were tiny white lace things with an in­no­cent white bow at the top. The bow con­cealed a small zip­per which pulled down to split the crotch wide open, re­veal­ing my freshly shaved pussy. I re­solved to keep the panties zipped
up.
I might be play­ing the naughty school girl, but there
were
lim­its. The white knee socks and Mary Janes com­pleted the look.

I stared at my­self in the sexy get-up feel­ing in­cred­ibly ex­posed. And yet, as vul­ner­able as I felt, I was still glad I was wear­ing this and not an­other little girl dress. I couldn’t take play­ing that age any­more. It was driv­ing me crazy—put­ting me into a frame of mind that was much too easy to slip into and in­cred­ibly hard to get out of.

And what age were you play­ing last night?
whispered a little voice in my head.
What age were you when Salt was shav­ing you and mak­ing you come with his big fin­gers bur­ied in your tight little pussy?

Well, not the age of the little girl dresses, that was for sure. But neither had I been think­ing of my­self as the re­bel­li­ous teen­ager I was now dressed as.

Hon­estly, I was be­gin­ning to think that the ap­par­ent “age” I was play­ing didn’t mat­ter as much as the mind­set I got into when Salt and I “played” in the first place. When I called him “Papa” and let my­self feel open and trust­ing with him, I went to a dif­fer­ent place—a place of ul­ti­mate vul­ner­ab­il­ity and weak­ness. The place where the hungry little girl lived—the one who missed her father’s love and ap­proval so des­per­ately.

I couldn’t let my­self go there any­more. Couldn’t al­low my­self to be that vul­ner­able for any man—not even Salt. I made stu­pid de­cisions when I was in that place—like let­ting my­self trust…let­ting my­self
feel
and re­mem­ber all the pain­ful memor­ies of my bio­lo­gical father I’d bur­ied so long ago.

No more,
I prom­ised my­self.
From now on I’m go­ing to be tough and no-non­sense. I’m only here to do my job and once it’s done, Salt and I are out of here and back to our former re­la­tion­ship.

Think­ing of my part­ner made me won­der what he would think when he saw me in the naughty school girl out­fit. Ima­gin­ing those pale blue eyes rak­ing over my nearly bare body sent a shiver down my spine. He prob­ably wouldn’t like it at all but that was just too damn bad. I was in charge of my own des­tiny here and I re­fused to back down for any­one—even Salt.

Lift­ing my chin, I stepped out of the bath­room…and found my part­ner gone.

Salt was already seated down in the din­ing room, eat­ing ba­con and eggs and mak­ing con­ver­sa­tion with Berkley and the other Dad­dies and their Baby­girls. I walked in slowly and heard the con­ver­sa­tion fal­ter as the oth­ers sit­ting at the table no­ticed my new out­fit. My breasts might not be as big as Mandy’s, but they were still full and perky and my nipples were little pink points, clearly vis­ible through the thin ma­ter­ial of my blouse. The skirt I was wear­ing nearly showed my panties—in fact, it
would
show my panties if I bent over, even a little.

The cool breeze from the air con­di­tioner swept over me, send­ing a shiver down my spine and mak­ing my nipples so tight they ached but I lif­ted my chin and walked up to the table any­way. I felt my stom­ach flut­ter with ap­pre­hen­sion as I ap­proached Salt’s chair. He’d seen me in this be­fore—hell, he’d seen me
na­ked
. But that had been in private. We were in pub­lic now—how would he re­act to the new
mishka?

“Well, well,
well.”
Berkley’s gray eyes swept over me ap­pre­ci­at­ively. “It looks like your Baby­girl is all grown up today, Mr. Saltanov.”

“Hmm?” Salt spared a glance over his shoulder at me but his ex­pres­sion of mild bore­dom didn’t change. “Oh yes, she is wish­ing to try new clothes today.” He shrugged as if to say it was no big deal.

I felt a surge of ir­rit­a­tion. How dare he act like he was bored when he saw me dressed like this? It was hard go­ing out in this get-up, damn it! The least he could do was say I was
pretty
.

“Hello,
Papa,”
I mur­mured, go­ing up to him. Lean­ing over so that my breasts were pressed against his arm, I stole a piece of ba­con from his plate and took a tiny nibble. “It’s nice to see you this morn­ing,” I told him in a high, breathy voice.

“Is nice to see you too,
mishka.
Now have a seat and eat your break­fast.” Salt still soun­ded faintly bored, al­most like a real father who had to deal with a tire­some teen­ager.

Ir­rit­ated, I star­ted to sit on the chair be­side him but someone had for­got­ten to put the stu­pid booster seat I needed to reach the table on it. Hav­ing a sud­den in­spir­a­tion, I ducked un­der Salt’s arm and in­sinu­ated my­self into his lap.

“What are you do­ing?” He soun­ded ir­rit­ated.

“There’s no booster in my seat so I can’t sit there,” I ex­plained, snug­gling back against his lap. “So I thought I’d sit with you, Papa. You don’t mind, do you?”

I pressed my panty-clad bot­tom against his crotch, rub­bing sug­gest­ively and was pleased to feel some­thing hot and hard pok­ing me. So my part­ner wasn’t
quite
as im­mune to my charms as he wanted to pre­tend. Good.

But Salt wouldn’t stand for my im­pudence for long.

“That is enough,
mishka,”
he growled, al­most push­ing me out of his lap. “I am sure they will bring booster if we ask.” He looked at Berkley, one eye­brow raised.

“Oh yes, cer­tainly!” The dir­ector looked mean­ing­fully at one of the ser­vants who rushed to get the booster seat for me. I sat on it with poor grace, sulk­ing with my arms crossed over my chest, for all the world like a spoiled teen­ager. The thing was—I was only halfway act­ing. I really
was
pissed at Salt for ig­nor­ing me when I was mak­ing my­self vul­ner­able by wear­ing this ri­dicu­lously re­veal­ing out­fit. It wasn’t hard to act like I was angry with him be­cause I
was
.

My sulky at­ti­tude wasn’t missed by Dir­ector Berkley.

“My, my, Mr. Saltanov,” he re­marked when the ser­vant sat a full break­fast plate down in front of me and I shoved it away without tak­ing a bite. “It seems to me that your Baby­girl is in dire need of some dis­cip­line. Maybe you should take her to task.”

“
Mishka
is fine.” Salt was per­us­ing the morn­ing pa­per now, still poin­tedly not look­ing at me. “Be­sides, she is prob­ably still sore from pun­ish­ment she got last night. I am cer­tain she does
not
want any more.”
On these last words, he turned his head and gave me a cold stare—a clear warn­ing that I had bet­ter get my act to­gether.

His un­spoken mes­sage only pissed me off more.

“Whatever,” I snapped. “I’m not hungry any­way.”

I pushed back from the table and got up.

“Mishka!”
Salt glowered at me. “You have not been ex­cused from table. You have not eaten a bite of your break­fast.”

“I
said
I’m not hungry.”

Turn­ing, I flounced away from the table with no very clear idea of where I was go­ing. But I hadn’t got­ten more than a few steps out­side the din­ing room when Salt came after me and grabbed me by the arm.

“What do you think you are do­ing,
mishka?”
he de­man­ded in a low voice. “Try­ing to cause a scene? Mak­ing trouble?”

“I’m try­ing to do my job,” I hissed back. “But it’s hard when my part­ner is be­ing an
as­shole.”

“How am I do­ing this?” Salt de­man­ded. “By not giv­ing you what you want? By not no­ti­cing your body in these clothes?” His pale blue gaze raked over me and I felt more na­ked than I had the night be­fore when I’d dropped my towel for him.

“It’s not easy be­ing dressed like this,” I poin­ted out in a low voice. “The least you could do is ac­know­ledge that.”

“It is also not easy to
see
you dressed like this and keep my thoughts on the case,” Salt growled, frown­ing. “I told you this be­fore we came here. I asked you to dress in other cloth­ing—not this.”

“The other cloth­ing was get­ting us nowhere,” I snapped. “No, scratch that—it was get­ting me into a men­tal and emo­tional mess. I couldn’t take it any­more—couldn’t take feel­ing like that. So I’m sorry if you don’t like the way I’m dressed but I tried it your way and it didn’t work.”

Salt threw up his hands in ap­par­ent ex­as­per­a­tion.

“Fine. Do as you please. I sup­pose I have no say in the mat­ter.”

“No, you don’t.” I glared at him and then took a deep breath, try­ing to re­gain con­trol. Fight­ing wouldn’t get us any closer to solv­ing this case and get­ting home. “Any­way, I think we should split up,” I said, straight­en­ing my blouse. “This dis­agree­ment is a good ex­cuse and we can cover more ground sep­ar­ately than to­gether.”

“And where do you wish to go?” he de­man­ded, plainly still pissed.

I shrugged. “Any­where we haven’t been yet. We’re still look­ing for the lab where the Please is be­ing made and the hid­den video view­ing room, right? If we find that room, I bet we’ll find a whole ass-load of evid­ence.”

“True.” Salt looked some­what mol­li­fied. “I will take cor­ridor where Dr. Lucy’s of­fice is loc­ated. Is too long to have only one door—some­thing may be hid­den there.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll look around the swim­ming pool and spa area. We can meet back at the din­ing room for lunch.”

“Very well.” Salt nod­ded shortly and I could tell he was still mad at me. Well, fine—I wasn’t his num­ber one fan at the mo­ment either.

Without an­other word, we par­ted ways.

Little did I know that next time I saw my part­ner I was go­ing to be in some of the worst trouble of my life.